the pathological case of a fractured fairytale
by alice hattercandy
Summary: AU. Kurosaki Ichigo is in love with a special girl. It is perfect, like a fairytale. There is just one tiny problem.
1. the comedy show

**the****  
pathological****  
case**  
**of****  
a****  
fractured****  
fairytale**

* * *

**i. **It is always empty, it is always quiet.

A single ray of moonlight enters the darkened entryway through the opened door. A body slides in and a hand shuts the door, followed by a click of a lock. There is a faint sound of shoes being taken off and discarded. Socked feet pad the wooden floor.

After twenty one steps, the footsteps stop. A light switch is flicked on, and artificial light from old fluorescent lamp floods the room.

A scowling, tall boy stands in the doorway, schoolbag in hand.

He enters the living room and drops his bag on top of a nearby low table. He switches on the small television. A comedy show shows up on the screen.

He stares unblinkingly at the screen, a haunted look in his eyes. He reaches for the remote, points it towards the screen and is in the middle of changing shows when the host says something and the audience laughs.

He stops.

The muscles of his strong, tanned forearm clench under his skin, around his bones. For a simple task of pressing a button to change channels, the tension under his skin and around his tight muscles is tremendous. Several seconds pass.

Nearby, there is a sound of a train passing. The second host says something, his partner disagrees and the audience laughs.

The muscles of his forearm relax. He tosses the remote control over a nearby chair and enters the kitchen. The sound of the audience laughing and hosts jeering each other follows him.

:

**ii. **The same comedy show, a different television set in a different place or room. The TV screen is larger, wider, a HD television set. The living room is warm and full of furniture. The lights are on.

A girl sits on the middle of the azure-colored sofa. She wears a navy blue uniform with white blouse, blue ribbon around the collar, vest and pleated skirt. She is watching with mild interest which is strange – the TV show, after all, is her favorite. She looks uncharacteristically solemn, her eyes half-lidded. When the audience laughs, she remains quiet, hands on her lap. Looking at her from a distance, she looks like a lifeless, prim and proper doll.

The hosts announce a commercial, the screen changes and a shampoo ad replaces the show. This seems to jolt her out of her trance. Hazel brown eyes blink. Very slowly, the girl looks around, spots her schoolbag and stretched out a hand. After a few moments of rummaging inside, she finds what she is looking for. She retracts her hand: a cell-phone.

For a long time, she stares at it with a passionate look in her eyes. She looks worried, confused and upon closer inspection, there is a distinct look of longing in her eyes.

The comedy show is back, the audience claps and the hosts try to outdo each other by speaking simultaneously.

:

**iii. **After a shampoo commercial, the comedy show comes back. The audience claps and the hosts greeted the viewers, talking at the same time.

He is listening from the kitchen, eating his dinner: beef instant ramen and a can of Coke. He has changed from his school uniform to a printed shirt and sweatpants; his bright orange hair is still messy, few locks sticking up and several strands falling down to his eyes.

Like the living room, the kitchen is bare with chrome walls and a fridge which is always empty. A Tiger's Tail stands in the corner. It is mostly ignored – but the houseplant is surprisingly resilient; it continues to grow despite the lack of attention, water and sunlight.

A black flip-phone beside the can of Coke vibrates and a standard message tone fills the stagnant silence.

Frowning, amber eyes heavy-lidded, he lowers his chopsticks. He grabs the device from its place.

You have received one message.

_Read._

His eyes widen, his body freezes. A dark, unreadable look crosses his face, lingers in his eyes, hardens the rough lines of his face and fades. Jaw clenched, eyes hard, he set the phone down and empties his can of Coke. After which, he crushes it in his hand, the sound of squeaking aluminum breaking the monotonous silence.

He sighs deeply and releases the crushed can. He leans back to his chair, closes his eyes and tips his head back. He stays like that until the comedy shows ends.

:

**iv. **She is lying on her bed, wearing a thin tank top and checkered pajamas.

The window is open. Outside, the big, fat moon is alone in the sky. There are no stars, no clouds. Unobstructed by anything, the moon shines and lights up the earth.

With a slight turn of her head, she gazes up to the little strip of sky she can see. It is quiet, a frozen silence, fine like dust.

On her study table, the cell-phone does not ring.

She closes her eyes.

:

**v. **He always has the same dream. Actually, it is a sequence of dreams.

He is standing in the middle of field of yellow flowers. He wants to run, to move but an invisible force keeps him immobile. He stands there and he does nothing else.

Then, the scene will change. It is as if a gigantic sponge is absorbing the colors and life of his surroundings. After that, there is infinite darkness, around him, above him. He is standing on a thin glass of clear water.

Every now and then, a ripple will disturb the tranquility. After the seventh ripple, he starts to sink. Like in the previous dream, he is unable to move. Moreover, he is not capable to produce a sound. He sinks very slowly, inch by inch. He opens his mouth, but there is no sound. Finally, he is submerged. He opens his mouth, water fills in and he feels his lungs burn. While he sinks, he struggles, looking up, eyes wide.

A foot appeared followed by another. There is someone standing directly above him. The water is clear but because of the bubbles, the figure's face is undecipherable. He sinks deeply until all he sees is darkness.

When he opens his eyes, he is stretched out on a grass, gazing up to the sky. The sun is setting, casting its wide, russet beams. The beams refract over the surface of the lake, creating an array of rainbow colors. The unobstructed lights and colors are too bright to look at so he looks away. He sees a girl sitting beside his folded knees, watching the sunset. She has long hair and she is facing forward so he could not see her face.

This is his favorite part of the dream.

There is a moan and the scene changes.

He is now in a room, dark and damp. It smells of sweat. The air is hot, heavy and wet. He is on a bed, on top of someone. He is panting hard, his chest heaving, his ribs compressing and expanding. The muscles of his back contract, blunt nails scratching his skin. Breathless, he reaches down to brush the long hair to reveal the face.

This is when Ichigo wakes up.

:

**vi. **The alarm clock rings.

There is a knock.

"Orihime."

The girl on the bed slowly opens her eyes. She is breathing heavily, pink lips parted, her cheeks red. The person on the other side calls her name again. The door swings open.

"Are you awake?"

"Y-Yes." Her voice is husky from sleep.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She sits up, her movement is slow and drowsy.

"Okay. Your breakfast is ready."

:

**vii. **The bell rings and the class ends. Students flow out while noisily exchanging high fives and comments. The noise continues down the hallways, shoe lockers and outside the building.

There is a small commotion outside the school, at the gate, a nearby person comments. Ichigo walks on, uninterested. The crowd at the gates thickens; there is a loud, rowdy comment about someone's 'nice legs', followed by laughter. A voice asks about the familiar all girls' school uniform.

He stops.

_All girls' school uniform?_

:

**viii.** Patiently, prudently ignoring the noise surrounding her, Orihime keeps her head down and waits. Boys whistle as they walk past her, staring at her openly. She is uncomfortable, but she is not going to give in to her discomfort and leave. Several girls glance at her curiously, probably wondering what she, a girl from a high class all-girl's school, is doing in a place like a public high school.

"Hey."

She stiffens and looks up timidly. A boy in loose uniform and messy, bleached hair grins at her.

"Whatcha doing here, babe?"

Orihime chooses not to speak. The boy, however, is not discouraged. He steps closer and cautiously, Orihime steps back. Someone from the crowd loudly comments about how nice her legs are. The group laughs; Orihime purses her lips.

"Your uniform – you from that stuck-up all-girl's school?" the person inquires, eyeing her uniform.

Nearby, a boy with dark hair and eye glasses, small notebook in hand, is watching with a frown.

The boy continues to approach her; the dark-haired boy with eyeglasses pushes up his spectacles and makes a step forward, but stops as he spots a bright, orange head.

"You mute or something, babe? Damn, that's too fucking bad." He smirks. "But you're cute and your legs are _nice_." He grabs her arm, causing Orihime's eyes to widen. "Entertain me for –" A foot comes out of nowhere. It collides with the side of the boy's head, prompting a yell of surprise and pain from the boy. With a loud sickening thud, he hits the ground, a foot planted on the back of his head. The laughter ceases abruptly.

"Who the hell do you think you're messing up with?" Ichigo hisses, looking down to the head he is stepping on with his right foot. His teeth clench, tight, powerful cords of muscles pop out from his neck. The person under his shoe struggles but Ichigo mercilessly grinds his foot harder. "You bastard… That's _my sister!_"

Then, Ichigo swings his leg forward, giving a strong kick that sends the boy flying off the ground and to the direction of his cronies who step back and let their leader fall on the ground once more. The students watching the spectacle cringe and step back.

Without an expression, Ichigo faces Orihime who is wide-eyed. "How many times did I tell you to stop coming here?"

She blinks and looks up to him. "I…"

Hearing whispers behind him, he turns to the curious onlookers. "What the hell are you all looking at?" he growls. "This is not a zoo! Stop ogling my sister!" He spats and the crowd immediately disperses; after all, this _is_ Kurosaki Ichigo, the boy with abnormal hair, abnormal temper, abnormal strength and abnormal resilience. He isn't _even _human, people say. However, he is an odd delinquent: a delinquent who makes good grades.

The place soon becomes empty, except for Sado – Ichigo's constant companion, the stony-faced Ichigo himself, the boy with eye-glasses and black hair, and Orihime.

"Nii-san."

Ichigo visibly cringes as though electrocuted. At this point, he really wants to hate her. With her constantly calling him 'brother', it always reminds him of the things he wants but could and would not have.

"Please… come home," Orihime says in her tremulous voice. Seeing her teary eyes and quivering lips, Ichigo quickly looks away and an invisible wall around him goes up, thickens and traps him inside.

"No."

"But…"

"We talked about this before –"

"We didn't." Orihime interjects softly, but firmly. "You never told me why you left."

"Why do I have to tell you everything?" he snorts with a heavy scowl. When he hears Orihime gasp, he squeezes his eyes shut and curses himself under his breath. "Look, Orihime." It hurts to look at her, especially now that she looks like as though she is about to cry. Ichigo, however, forces himself to continue. "Just stay away from _me_."

With that, he walks past her. Sado offers a small smile to the girl as he passes by her.

"W-Wait, please!" She stumbles after Ichigo. The tall boy continues on without a backward glance. Sado, on the other hand, cast Orihime a subtle concerned look.

"N-Nii-san, wait – ah!"

Ichigo turns around and his hand thrusts forward, gripping Orihime's wrist to steady her. "Look where you're going," he says quietly, looking at her underneath his lashes.

Teary brown eyes look up to him. "P-Please… I-Ichigo-kun."

The wall crumbles, fine like dust.

Ichigo stares at her openly and swallows slowly, painfully; the sweet echo of his name coming from her lips soothes his frayed nerves, his tense muscles and tortured soul. A cottony haze fogs his brain and senses.

"We're waiting for you. Let's go home-" He is watching the movement of her perfect lips. "Nii-san."

To Ichigo, the last word is a vicious curse. The spell breaks into tiny pieces and Ichigo is fiercely ripped away from his fantasies. Cold, heavy reality comes crashing down on him in like an enormous tidal wave.

"No," Ichigo answers simply, dropping her hand.

"B-But –"

"This conversation is boring me," Ichigo drawls flatly. "Go home, leave me alone and stop coming to my school." He could see disappointment shining in her watery, hazel-colored eyes. But Orihime only sighs deeply and gives him a smile.

"I…" She looks straight into his eyes. And Ichigo, as always whenever Orihime looks into his eyes, feels as though she can see his deepest secret, the _only_ thing he wants, the _only_ thing he desires, and he feels violently sick.

His clenched fist trembles.

"Be careful," she says softly, smiles at Sado before turning to go.

:

**ix. **_That's right. Go. Stay the fuck away from me. _

The walking figure of Orihime becomes smaller until she disappears in a corner.

_I'm not going to drag you to hell with me._

Forcefully relaxing his fists, Ichigo turns to the opposite direction. "Let's go, Chad," he grunts.


	2. a fracture

******the****  
pathological****  
case**  
**of****  
a****  
fractured****  
fairytale**

* * *

**i. **Ichigo is stretched out on the grass, gazing up to the sky. It is quiet between him and Sado who sits few steps away from him to his right. The water on the lake does not make a sound; it twinkles under the faint sunlight of the setting sun. Two bright white chunks of clouds hang in the sky, like a semicolon in a blue sheet of paper with hints of autumn gold. The quiet is comforting, different from the empty silence that usually fills his apartment.

He closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, Sado is gone and dusk has settled. The chunks of clouds have dissolved, replaced by stars. For a full minute, he stares up to the sky, his face, expressionless. His hand curls and grips the grass.

With a grunt, he sits up and glances at the space Sado previously occupied. He must have gone to his band practice. He grabs his bag and stands up, not bothering to dust himself off. He sets off to the direction of his apartment.

The corner of his mouth lifts. The apartment, it is never a home. It is just a space in a building where time moves very slowly, where the silence hangs like dust suspended in midair. It is always empty, feels empty – even when he is there. Even the fridge is empty. The only living thing that accompanies him is the Tiger's Tail that he always forgets to water. Even though he does not watch TV shows, he always makes it a habit to turn on the TV set, tuned into Orihime's favorite comedy show.

He pauses, his figure casting a shadow on the wall to his left. He tilts his head in listening gesture. Four pairs of feet are approaching him, circling him.

"Hey, we're lucky." A stub of cigarette is thrown to the ground. "Yo, Kurosaki."

A faint smirk tugs at his lips. Ichigo lifts his chin, his bangs lifting off his forehead by the passing breeze to reveal a pair of flashing, amber eyes.

"Right on time," he says in a bored tone. "I need to stretch."

:

**ii. **The dining room is quiet, except from the regular ticking of a wall clock. When the hands of time hit seven o'clock, Orihime's mother begins to talk. Orihime, however, is too preoccupied to listen and contribute in the conversation.

"Orihime, are you listening?"

The girl starts and looks up. "M-Mom," she says in an inquiring tone, blinking innocently.

"Are you listening to me?"

Orihime blushes faintly. "I-I'm sorry."

The older woman lowers her utensils and stares at Orihime, a sharp appraisal. Orihime recognizes that _look_. "You talked to Ichigo about moving back here, didn't you?" It is not a question, but a statement. Orihime does not reply but her silence is enough.

"Orihime," her mother sighs, a thin, pale hand with long slim fingers lifting to rub her aching temple. "How many times did I tell you stay away from him?"

She lowers her thick eyelashes. "You and Ichigo-kun said the same thing to me."

"You should listen to him, then!"

Orihime does not like arguing with her mother. Oftentimes, she lets her mother decide for her – what school to attend, what course to consider taking in college, how to act, and what extracurricular activities to participate into. Those type of things. Orihime, she is an obedient child and as long as her mother is happy, she believes she will be alright. They agree on most things and Orihime does not have any problems letting her mother control her life. It's not like she likes being manipulated; she values their peaceful relationship and she dislikes discord. Moreover, she does not like to burden and worry her mother – her mother has suffered greatly, has lost so much in the past. If she starts disobeying her, who knows what will happen to her mother. But there is one thing that her mother wants her to do which Orihime could not and would not do.

"Mom, I can't – I can't stay away from him. He's my brother and he's part of this family."

The look on her mother's face hardens, sorrow lining her features, causing her to look older and haunted. "There is _no _family. It's just you and me."

"And Nii-san." Orihime adds quietly.

"No."

"Mom…"

"Don't make this difficult for me, Orihime. When will you learn to accept the facts? Ichigo… he's dangerous. He's not good for you. He's a curse – a jinx!"

Orihime's eyes widen. "Mom, please don't talk about Ichigo-kun like that! He's your _son_ – he's my brother! What would Dad think and feel if he finds out you're talking about Ichigo-kun with hate?"

There is a cryptic look on her mother's face, a look you see on someone recalling a painful memory. But this look, it has always been there. During the day, the look is subtle. You have to look at her closely, examine every line, every curve and every tiny movement of her facial muscles. But when night falls, the mask breaks, dissolves like smoke, and the _look _manifests visibly, like a neon light in the darkness.

When she speaks, it is so soft, brittle. "You were there. You saw what happened. You –"

"It was an accident." Orihime interjects softly, shoulders stiff. "It wasn't Ichigo-kun's fault. It was–"

"Enough."

Orihime bites her lower lip.

"This conversation is emotionally draining." Her mother stands up. When she turns her head away from Orihime's gaze, a luxurious sheet of hair covers the half of her face, shielding her from Orihime's wide-eyed stare. "I'm tired. Do you mind cleaning up?"

Orihime shakes her head. "It's alright, I'll do it. Please rest, Mom."

"Thank you."

The older woman leaves the dining room, and Orihime is alone. She glances at the empty chair Ichigo used to occupy.

:

**iii. **Thick blood covers the right of his face and soaks his collar. His lip is cut. A wound on the crown of his head is bleeding profusely, trickling over his eyebrow and eye. Someone has hit the back of his head with a metal pole. Nevertheless, Ichigo remains standing.

"You… bastard," the person who uses the metal pole to hit Ichigo growls, discarding the weapon. "What the fuck are _you_? You're not human!"

Ichigo spits out blood and wipes the blood off his eye. "Whatever. You guys are obsessed with me. And I'm not flattered. Not at all."

"You asshole! Let's see how you'll deal this!" The same guy pulls out a knife; Ichigo narrows his eyes. "I'm going to pluck your eye out and shave your head with this, you hear me!" Ichigo clenches his teeth, his face grim. "Those eyes… your damn hair… they piss the hell out of me!" The delinquent springs forward with a battle cry and Ichigo prepares to defend himself. The attacker stops in mid swing, however, when a large hand clamps hard around his wrist. The hand twists the wrist in an odd angle and the knife falls on the ground with a clatter. The delinquent glances over his shoulder.

"Y-You…"

Ichigo relaxes his stance. "Oi, Chad. Where did you go?"

Sado raises his free hand as a greeting. "Band practice." Effortlessly, he tosses the assailant aside. The guy curses, scrambles up to his feet, and runs off, leaving his unconscious comrades behind.

"You're bleeding," Sado observes.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Ichigo deadpans, rolling his eyes.

"Hn."

Several minutes later, Ichigo is sitting on wooden bench beside a lamppost. He has discarded his white uniform and is using it to wipe the blood off his face. The blood has seeped into his inner shirt, making large, round patches of fresh blood around his collar and behind his shirt. The cut on his shoulder is not deep, but the bleeding is profuse, soaking his sleeve. _Damn, that will leave a stain, _he grouses, eyeing the said sleeve, the collar, his shirt. Inhaling and exhaling are painful. His ribs are sore and his knuckles hurt a little too, but they are not as painful as his ribs.

Sado is quietly watching him. "You should go to a clinic," he suggests.

Ichigo stops from reaching behind his head to stem the blood flow from the wound caused by the metal pole. Heavy silence falls between two friends. Sado realizes his mistake.

"Sorry."

Ichigo resumes reaching behind and presses the bundle of white shirt against the wound. Blood easily soaks the material. "No problem," he replies without looking up. Bright orange hair falls over his forehead, shadowing his eyes. Then, he smirks with a shrug. "Old man's probably laughing his ass off somewhere."

:

**iv. **The next day, Kiego tells Ichigo that his sister is waiting for him outside the courtyard. Ichigo stiffens at this and unconsciously touches the Band-Aids, bruises and cuts on his face. His ribs are still sore and the cut on his shoulder still bleeds whenever he moves his arm.

He goes outside immediately, remembering the incident involving Orihime yesterday. When he arrived, there are few students watching his sister, but no one tries to approach her. When they see him approach, his face in a hard, ugly scowl, the students hurry away. Ichigo snorts; sometimes having a face of a thug comes in handy.

Orihime looks up from staring at her shoes. When she sees his face, her eyes widen. In quick steps, she is in front of him, peering up to him worriedly.

"W-What happened?" she asks frantically. "Y-Your shoulder is bleeding!"

"It's nothing," he answers rather gently in a gruff tone. "Didn't I tell you to stop coming here?" He glares at the people behind Orihime. The students cringe and stop looking.

She stares at him for a long time before replying softly. "I… I want to see you."

This time, he directs a dark glare at her. "Go home. You don't belong here. This place is not safe for you."

"But –"

"Do I have to drag you?"

Her soulful, earnest eyes make him feel like a total jackass. However, he refuses to feel guilty and tries to stare back at her determinedly. But his resolve to keep a stony façade is slowly crumbling. With a grunt, he averts his gaze and folds his arms in front of his chest, a poor attempt to look indifferent.

"I'll go but," Orihime says; Ichigo frowns and looks at her. "You have to promise me that you'll see a doctor to check your wounds."

"I don't have time for that. I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Moreover, he does not have extra cash to pay for it.

"But –"

"Orihime, I'm fine. If you want to waste your time worrying, worry about something else."

"Nii-san…" When she steps closer to him, Ichigo feels the air freeze between them. He feels trapped, claustrophobic. Tentatively, he steps back, his scowl deepening. Distance, distance is good, distance is safe – as long as there is a distance between them, she is safe, his sanity is safe.

"Please, let me help you. Your wounds might get infected and –"

"I can look after myself." He interrupts. "Now go, alright? You don't belong here." Without a backward glance, Ichigo walks away – and the distance between two people who are supposed to be the closest widens.

:

**v. **The comedy show is on but Ichigo is in the kitchen. A bottle of alcohol, plastic pack of cotton balls and several gauzes are on the kitchen table. Ichigo is shirtless and is busy trying to fix the cut on his shoulder with cotton soaked with alcohol. He hisses occasionally in irritation at every sting. Fortunately, the bleeding has stopped and he is able to cover the cut with a strip of gauze. He put a hand on his chest to check if there are broken bones. The muscles are sore, he concludes, and there are no broken ribs.

Three knocks on the front door catch his attention. He puts on his shirt, proceeds to the hallway and opens the door.

Orihime is standing on his doorstep, still wearing her navy blue uniform. Her blue hairpins twinkle in the semi-darkness.

"What are you doing here?" he asks with a frown.

She smiles up at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry – Are you busy?" When he does not answer, she adds. "I-I'll come back later." She shrinks back and turns to go but Ichigo makes a hand gesture.

"It's okay." He leans on the doorframe and looks down at her from underneath his lashes. "What do you need?"

"I…" She stares at his face intently, eyeing the cuts. "Did you see a doctor?"

Ichigo exhales. "Not this again. I told you, I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

Orihime smiles softly but her eyes – wide and limpid, are solemn. "Of course. Nii-san is a responsible brother."

The muscles in his jaw clench. "Are you done praising me? You can go home now." He makes a gesture to close the door. Orihime lifts a hand to stop him.

"W-wait! Nii-san… I know I sound like a broken record, but…"

"Orihime. This is boring and repetitive. I told you – I am _not _going to go back home. _Ever_. Things have changed. _We _have changed."

"No, I care about you, Nii-san, just like before! I never stopped caring." Those eyes, they are drowning him. He wants to look away but he could not. "Please, why can't you go back to us, to our home? Why can't we be the same sister and brother before?"

Ichigo clenches his fist, his teeth clenching so hard that the muscles of his jaw tremble and twitch very forcefully in an effort not to shout and lose his temper. Why? _Why_? His mind screams.

_You are the reason!_

He grinds his molars together.

_You… You… make me sick._

"Just…" His voice is hoarse with an effort to keep his emotions hidden. "Go home, Orihime. We can't go back to normal. _I _can't. Once something happens, we can _never_ change things back to the way they were."

Orihime reaches out and grips the front of his shirt, startling Ichigo. "There are only the three of us now: you, me and Mom. We have to stick together, be a family. Why is it so hard? Please come home. I…" Tears start to well up in her wide, honey-colored eyes. "I need _you._"

_I need you._ Those words, oh those words.

He closes his eyes, takes her hands in his and lowers them to her sides.

"You really are naïve, Orihime," he says in a low voice, eyes cold.

Orihime stares up at him, confused.

"Go home. It's not safe for you to stay up late in the streets," Ichigo added flatly.

They gaze at each other silently. Silence, as thin as particles of light, rises around them, between them. It is fragile, but Ichigo knows it is as strong as steel. Unbreakable.

She startles him with a question. Her voice penetrates the wall, and the silence crumbles.

"What's holding you back from coming home, Ichigo-kun?"

He hates it when she calls him "Nii-san" and no matter how much he likes it when she calls him by his given name, he also knows Orihime using his first name to address him is _dangerous. _Every time she says his name, he feels the restraints he has on his emotions and urges weaken. The wall he has created – not to keep her out but to trap himself – starts to crumble, brick by brick. The center of his world is tilting, always on a verge of turning upside down. If he loses control of himself and of his emotions, god knows what he'll start doing to her.

He can endure anything, his mother's hate, people's cynicism, loneliness, emptiness, guilt, nightmares, dreams of an empty train going to nowhere, broken bones and scorn, but he will _never_ recover from pain if Orihime starts hating him and _fearing _him. He has given her the power to easily break him, like a twig under her foot. She has his heart on her tiny hands and she can do _anything _with it.

"I want us to be a family again." Orihime is speaking again. "Daddy would not want us to be like _this – _broken. What do you think he'll feel? What do you think Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan will feel about us being like _this_?"

There is a long, heavy, cold silence.

"They would not feel anything," Ichigo says coldly.

He looks straight into her wide, watery eyes.

"They're dead."

:

**vi. **He is back to that _place, _to that _time_ where there is a bloody hand, a blank, dead stare, broken windshield, and shattered windows. There is a quiet _Ichi-nii, _a tearful and frightened _Onii-chan _and a scream as a vehicle explodes in a huge ball of fire. Someone is screaming, a voice he could not recognize – _n__oooooooooo – _the sound echoes and the very foundation of his being trembles. There is a loud crack inside him, a sound that resembles a gunshot. The ground he is standing on is ripped apart, and suddenly, he is drowning.

Two hands grip his ankles, one hand on each ankle, and they drag him down to the very bottom of the ocean. He struggles and when he looks up, he sees someone standing above him – a blurry image. And when he looks down, he sees the faces of his sisters: Yuzu is holding his right ankle, while Karin grips his left. They are grinning at him, an unusual grin from ear to ear that it literally splits their faces into halves. Their eyes are cold and blank.

"Nii-san, are you–"

Ichigo jerks back in reality. And without thinking, terrified by the onslaught of images from one of his many nightmares, he snaps. "Get away from me!"

When he recovers, he sees Orihime, staring at him, wide-eyed with shock. She appears to have shrunk away from him, probably due to fear. Heart aching, Ichigo could not blame her. He swallows and presses the heel of his palm over his right eye, looking away from her. At this point, he could not stand to look at her face.

"Look…" He clears his throat and exhales. He is shaking; every tiny muscle in his body is shaking. "Please, just go home. I don't want to see you. I don't want to see you _ever again._" He is breathless, his heart racing in adrenaline. God, those nightmares – they are haunting him, even in his waking hours.

"Stay away from me. Stay away. You… You…"

_Maybe if I put enough distance between us, it will be alright – _she _will be alright, _she _will be safe. _He grips his hair in one hand, as if trying to hold onto to his sanity.

_I'll stay away, I promise. I _will _stay away, just please – _please, _don't – _

He looks at Orihime. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and Ichigo freezes. No, not her crying face, not her crying face, _not her crying face —_

He slams the door closed with a force that shakes the walls.

Eyes shut and very warm, Ichigo leans his forehead on the wood. He is shaking worst than before, and he is having painful palpitations. His mouth feels weird – his salivary glands are secreting saliva like crazy, and his stomach… He squeezes his eyes shut and lifts a hand to wipe his mouth.

_What the fuck._

Ichigo wants to laugh bitterly. The pain, it seems, has started to physically manifest. Feeling violently sick, he opens his eyes and breathes through his nose.

Grimly, he opens the door.

Orihime is gone.


	3. saddest things

**the  
pathological **  
**case ****  
of ****  
a ****  
fractured ****  
fairytale **

* * *

**i. **Orihime wipes her face dry but another batch of tears appears. Frantically, she hurries to wipe them off with the back of her hands. Above her, a big chunk of cloud moves and reveals the unusually big, full moon.

Wobbling ever slightly, she pauses beneath a streetlight; its light creates a halo over her head. She bows her head, staring at her shoes, her long auburn hair falling over her shoulders and face. Inhaling deeply, Orihime closes her eyes.

"Orihime."

She stiffens, her eyes flying open. Unsteadily she turns around with wide-eyed expression.

There is a seven step distance between Orihime and Ichigo. His lips are parted as he breathes heavily, looking as if he has completed a marathon. His spiky hair is messier, bright spikes standing up in odd angles, ruffled by the breeze. The distance slowly shortens, one step, two, three, four. In every step, the frown on his face softens. Finally, he stops before her, standing with her under the yellow lamplight.

Ichigo meets her watery gaze, and at the sight of her distress, his stomach clenches.

The unshed tears finally spill over her cheeks. It induces a look of horror and panic from Ichigo. "H-Hey, don't — don't cry!" Orihime brings her hands to her face to hide her tears.

Ichigo swallows nervously and without stalling much longer, he puts his arms around her. At first, Orihime stiffens, surprised, looking up to him. But Ichigo bends his head forward to her shoulder, hiding his face and holds her tighter against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I was angry at myself. I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you."

Orihime does not reply, but she wraps her arms around him, a sob escaping her mouth. Thin fingers move and rake over his back before curling to clench his t-shirt, anchoring her body to his. Ichigo places a hand at the back of her head and embraces her tighter, eyes falling shut as he relaxes inside her embrace, basking in the warmth of her presence. It is strange: she can wreck havoc in his system, but at the same time, only her presence can soothe him.

"I-I'm sorry…" she stammers against his shirt in her watery voice. Her tears drench a particular spot in his shirt. He could feel the dampness permeating his skin. "I don't listen to you… I annoy you a lot and –"

"You don't annoy me,"

Orihime looks up to him tearfully. "R-Really…?"

"Yeah. Now, stop crying, alright? I hate it when you cry," he mutters, wiping her damp cheeks with the heel of his palm.

Orihime nods determinedly, still embracing him. "I won't do it again!"

"I'm not forbidding you from crying," Ichigo says patiently. "I just don't like it when you cry and it's because of me." The tip of his forefinger accidently brushes against her parted lips. He freezes, the soft touch of her mouth sending a hot shiver down his spine. Something heated and distorted moves under the depth of his eyes.

Swallowing thickly and clenching his jaw, Ichigo mentally loads up his defenses and grabs hold of his control. Contact, contact is such a delicious thing – it blurs reasons, feeds desires, crumbles defenses. Quickly, he dries her other cheek before letting go. Orihime, he notices, hesitantly drops her arms.

"Come on, I'll walk you home." He averts his gaze, his mouth dry.

"You will?" asks Orihime in disbelief. Ichigo lifts a brow at her reaction, but later understands. Ever since he moved out of the house, he stopped walking her home to avoid seeing his mother and to preclude a possible row. The first few times, he was worried for Orihime; he only stopped worrying when she started to walk home with Tatsuki, a childhood friend. Tatsuki, despite her slim figure, is a strong girl, a karate champion.

"It's not safe." He tells her.

Orihime smiles up at him. "Thank you!" It is such a sweet smile and Ichigo could not help but favor her with a small smile. He starts walking, Orihime skipping beside him.

After a few minutes of silence, he glances at her from the corner of his eye. "Just because I'm walking you home and we talked, it doesn't mean it's alright for you to come and ask me about coming back. My decision is final."

Orihime glances over at him. "I'm not going to give up."

Ichigo frowns. "You're stubborn."

She replies with a small smile as she returns her gaze to the street before her. "Whenever Tatsuki-chan and I walk home, I think about you and the times when we used to walk home together." She looks at him solemnly, but she is still smiling. "They said it's weird."

"What is?"

"This bond between us."

His frown deepens. "What about it?"

Orihime bites her lower lip, looking away. "I don't know." Then, she laughs softly. "Maybe they think I have a strange brother complex."

Ichigo almost trips but catches himself. "Oh!" Orihime exclaims, pointing. "We're here!" Ichigo refuses to glance at the painfully familiar façade of his father's clinic. It is empty now, locked and dark. Orihime stands in front of the gate, a slim hand hovering before it. Ichigo raises a brow when she glances at him, a thick lock of hair falling over her shoulder and on top of her chest.

Her lips curve in a small smile that does not reach her eyes. She opens her mouth, but she pauses, her lips parted as though the words she wants to say have evaporated at the exact moment she's about to say them. An odd look flits over her face: in her eyes is a muddle of sadness and longing and confusion. She does not wear sadness well.

"There is something wrong, isn't it?" she says softly.

Ichigo gazes off to the side, his mouth in a thin, tense line.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me now." She tells him quietly. "When you're ready, please tell me about it and I'll listen." Ichigo looks at her from under his lowered lashes, eyes dark. Softly, Orihime smiles, the same smile she usually wears. It reminds him of their childhood together. This reminder only makes him more bitter. "Thank you for walking me home."

Ichigo watches her enter the house, the click of the lock echoes inside his head like a bell.

:

**ii. **"Thank you, Kurosaki-san, for your time." The professor gestures towards the chair. "Please take a seat."

"Thank you."

Orihime's homeroom teacher appears to be in mid-thirties, has a kind face, black hair in French chignon and slim figure. She dresses very simply, yet elegantly.

"Let's start, shall we?" The teacher smiles, and Orihime's mother nods. Unlike her cheerful daughter, Orihime's mother has a cold, distant and delicate air. She is like a shard of ice: beautiful and brittle, cold to touch and difficult to hold on to. Her beauty speaks volumes of loneliness that it is almost tangible.

"Orihime-chan is an exceptional student." The teacher begins. "She is in top 5 of her class, interacts excellently with her classmates, very hardworking and I believe she has a bright future ahead of her."

Orihime smiles gratefully. The professor smiles back and turns to the older woman. "You have brought her up so well, Kurosaki-san."

"Thank you for your kind words."

A careful, curious look, and then, "Please correct me if I'm wrong. Orihime-chan has a brother, hasn't she?"

Orihime lowers her thick lashes, suddenly very tense. "Yes, she has." Her mother's voice is perfectly neutral. The teacher smiles politely and prudently changes the topic.

"As for Orihime-chan's academic standing, there is nothing for you to worry about. Her grades are excellent. However, I have noticed that she seems preoccupied for the last few months." Orihime looks down to her lap, twisting her fingers. "Additionally, since I am in charge of the Handicrafts club, I have received written reports about her frequent absences in the club's after-school activities."

There is a sound of papers being turned.

"Fortunately, her grades haven't suffered from these occurrences. They remain excellent. I know Orihime-chan can be imaginative and often dreamy, but I think this is not her normal daydreaming ways. She is distracted." There is pause, and very carefully, the teacher chooses her next words. "I am aware of your circumstances, Kurosaki-san. I know things are difficult for you and for Orihime-chan. So, I understand."

Orihime's mother's next words are clear, her tone is dismissive. "We are coping well."

"That's good to hear." The woman's expressionless face is an uncomfortable sight, so the teacher looks at Orihime with a smile. "Whatever it is, Orihime-chan, I hope it's not love life-related." The girl blushes shyly. "Kidding aside, if there are any problems troubling you, do not hesitate to discuss it with your mother. This is your final year. You need to focus, to concentrate without any distractions."

Orihime nods obediently.

"Let's discuss your college plans, Orihime-chan." She picks up a paper and segregates it from the rest. "University of Tokyo," she reads. "If your aim is to enter Todai, you have to work harder, Orihime-chan. Only the best enters Todai, and there are very privileged few who graduates successfully. My advice is to focus on your studies. You are intelligent and hardworking. I am certain you will be successful."

"I will do my best, sensei."

:

**iii. **The car stops at the intersection as the traffic light changes from green to red. At their left, a red Mitsubishi Strada stops. Orihime glances outside the window and stares at the gleaming red paint vacantly. The vehicle is new; it has the proud glow of a new, pampered machine.

Overhead, the stoplight becomes green. The Strada shoots forward; their red Honda follows.

The silence cloaking the interior of the car is heavy and uncomfortable. It resembles the calm before the storm. Orihime keeps looking outside, watching the scenery go by while her mother continues to drive. At four-thirty six, the car stops in front of their two-storey house. The engines die and the silence returns.

"Is it because of _him?_"

That tone, Orihime recognizes _that_ tone. "Mom…" she mumbles while turning to face her mother. But the older woman unbuckles her seatbelt, unlocks the door, steps outside and slams it closed. In a swift, cold grace, she enters the house. Orihime fumbles with her seatbelt, opens her door with one hand while the other reaches for her schoolbag.

"Please listen to me."

The woman stops in mid-swing and whirls around, her poise cracking like a vase. "You are being unreasonable!" Few auburn locks untangle from the knot. Orihime does not dare to meet her mother's eye, keeping her gaze on the floor. "Instead of focusing on your responsibilities as a student, you are chasing after _him!_" She snarls the last word as though it is poison on her tongue, causing Orihime to cringe.

"This has to stop. Concentrate on your studies. Don't waste your time on _him._ He's not worth it."

Orihime's mother sits down at one end of the expensive sofa. Orihime remains standing.

"I've always wanted for you to have a bright future, Orihime. I don't want you to waste your opportunities. Throw away your chances. Prioritize what is important, and that is _your _future." She closes her eyes and breathes deeply – one, two, three. When she opens her eyes, she has transformed. She looks calmer, more distant, and colder. Orihime, for a moment, wonders who this woman is – where she comes from and why she is here. She looks like her mother, only that she is _not. _A stranger who has her mother's face, her mother's name, her mother's clothes.

"No more trips to his school and apartment. If I have to pick you up from school, I will do it. Stay away from _him._ His bad luck is infectious." The woman stands up and turns her back to Orihime, ending their conversation. This is when Orihime speaks up.

"I'm sorry."

The woman does not turn around to acknowledge her.

"I can't. I can't stay away from him. He's very important to me. He is a _part of me – _the other half of me that I cannot simply forget and abandon. It's like… It's like asking me to discard the other half of my body!"

Her mother does not reply; she simply goes up to her room, closing the door behind her without a sound.

With a heavy sigh, Orihime sits down, head bowed, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. The living room is quiet, and only then Orihime feels the loneliness that haunts the house.

:

**iv. **The comedy show is on.

His eyebrows furrow as a string of knocks hit the front door. He lowers the volume of the TV set before standing up. He opens the door, and his eyebrows go up in surprise and disbelief. His grip on the door knob tightens until veins appear from holding it tightly. The air becomes too thin to breathe in.

Forcefully, he relaxes his grip and let go.

"It's been a long time."

He forces himself to look at her in the eye, feeling a disgusting urge to weep like a child.

"Mom."

:

**v. **The comedy show is back after three commercial, the audience claps and the two hosts exchange words.

"Are you kidding me? After all the things you've said to me, the troubles I went through to put a roof above my head after you—"

The dark, silver glint of warning flashing in her eyes prompts Ichigo to pause in the middle of his speech. Muscles clenching in his jaw, he continues with forced calm, "After _I left_ the house, _you_ wanted me to—"

"This is not my decision."

Ichigo clenches his fist and ignores the pang of sharp pain lancing his chest. What has happened to the beautiful woman who used to dote on him? Who is this woman who has his mother's face, his mother's voice, and his mother's clothes? With bitterness, he realizes that pain, like love, can change people.

"I don't want you near Orihime." The words cause Ichigo to grimace and wish to break something.

Orihime glances over at Ichigo worriedly.

"But this is what she wanted," their mother goes on. Ichigo looks at his sister with a frown. Orihime tries to smile but it is strained. "Because of her unhealthy obsession of following you around and convincing you to come home, her school performances are declining. Her grades haven't suffered _yet, _but I won't allow _you_ to jeopardize her chances of having a better, jinx-free life."

Ichigo turns away, hiding his expression.

"I have no choice but to concede: you will come home immediately."

Come home and live with Orihime? Ichigo swallows hard, facing the wall. "This is not a good idea," he says between clenched teeth.

"I agree," their mother says. Ichigo faces the corner of the room where his mother sits on a chair like an expensive statue. "But I'm doing this for Orihime. I figure if I allow you to live with us, she will stop chasing after you and concentrate in her studies once and for all."

Ichigo is staring at his mother with an unreadable expression. Locks of bright orange hair fall over his forehead and intense half-lidded eyes. The woman looks back impassively, her eyes like ice.

"Of course," he says quietly, disgusted at the hint of hurt lacing his tone. "You will tolerate my presence for the sake of Orihime."

The woman stands up. Like Ichigo, she wears a heavily guarded expression. "I will wait in the car."

Orihime gets to her feet. "Mom, wait–"

"I need fresh air," their mother cuts in before walking out of the apartment. The door shuts without a sound. For a full minute, the two stare at the closed door.

Slowly, Orihime turns to Ichigo, her expression tender. Ichigo gazes back, watching the way she bite her bottom lip, the look of anguish and regret filling her eyes.

"I'm… selfish, aren't I?" she murmurs, dropping her eyes. "I… I want us to be together and my efforts cause us problems. I'm so sorry…" she pauses, her lips quivering. "Because of me, she said those things to you."

"Orihime…"

"I'm sorry… I—"

Ichigo put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't apologize," he says quietly. Clenching his jaw, he closes his eyes briefly. "I'll do it. I'm going home with you."

Her eyes have gone wide. Ichigo notices that she does not look happy with his decision. "P-Please, if you really don't want to, it's okay. You don't have to do the things you hate just because of me."

"No," he replies. His heavy-lidded gaze drops to her quivering, damp lips. Looking at them, he feels the fierce desire to feel them against his lips and between his teeth resurface with biting intensity, like a hungry beast scratching at the surface of his sanity. His dark, heavy gaze traces the curve of her cheek and chin before looking into her eyes.

"I'll do it," he whispers between clenched teeth, "for you."

Her long lashes lift and their eyes meet. For a moment, he lets himself get lost in her innocent gaze, pulling him in, reminding him how much he wants to escape to a place where neither heaven nor hell will be able to find him, a place where the two of them can be together.

Her lips part in a shaky sigh. The hand on her shoulder slowly moves up to her slender neck. Ichigo could feel her pulse throb under her thin skin. His thumb traces the soft curve of her chin, moving higher to touch her parted lips. Her cheeks color brightly at his touch, a look of wonder in her eyes. Ignoring the warning bells going off inside his head, he caresses her bottom lip. A delicious almost-violent shiver rips through him, coiling into a tangled mess of emotions and desire.

Clenching his teeth, Ichigo stares into her eyes – they are bright and limpid, watching, waiting, innocently curious and trusting. Breathing hard, his face tightens – how could she trust him so completely? He is a tainted man, a cursed man. He is a troubled mess of a man who wants to protect her, but at the same time, wants to ruin everything, burn the world and be consumed with it.

With great effort, he withdraws his hand and turns his back to her.

"Ichigo…"

His body reacts fiercely at the sound of his name from her lips. He clenches his trembling fists and grits his teeth.

_Fuck._

Control, control – he fights for control, he struggles for it. Squeezing his eyes shut to block the heated thoughts and vivid images, Ichigo grunts through clenched teeth, "Wait here. I'm going to pack my things."

Orihime watches his back as he goes to his room and closes the door. From the distance is a sound of a train passing. The comedy show goes on, the audience laughs and the hosts jeer each other.

Separated by a plank of wood, listening to the low sound of laughter coming from the television, Ichigo and Orihime realize that the saddest things in life are the most comical of all.

:

**vi. **He is in love.

A love that is so strong that if it can take on a physical, tangible form, it will resemble a cruel wave or a reckless tornado that will ruin everything in its path.

It is terrifying to realize that his heart is capable of such feeling. Furthermore, he realizes, if his heart can love with such intensity, it will make him vulnerable. His heart, it will be wrung, it will be broken.

Thus, he locks his heart up in a safe. He wraps it in sackcloth, throws it inside a dark, damp room and locks it with a hundred locks of different sizes. He throws the keys in different places, in different open seas where no one can retrieve them.

His love, his heart, his secret, they are safe.

No one will know. No one will find out.

But his love is so strong that if it can take on a physical, tangible form, it will resemble a cruel wave or a reckless tornado that will ruin everything in its path. It rages, it demands to be acknowledged, to be realized. All it wants, after all, is recognition.

Thus, one day, while staring in a mirror, he confesses to himself:

He is in love – he is in love with a special girl.

It is perfect, like a fairy tale.

:

**vii.** There is just one tiny problem.

:

**-i. **Two days later after the confession he made to himself, a large delivery truck hits a bus full of people.

Ichigo is the only survivor.


	4. paper sky

**the****  
pathological ****  
case**  
**of****  
a ****  
fractured ****  
fairy tale****  
**

* * *

**-ii.** He was a lucky boy.

That was for sure.

Two broken ribs, dislocated shoulders, a cut above his eye, sprained wrists, fractured right femur, bruises all over his body and cut bottom lip – these were nothing compared to the crushing deaths of thirty two people. After two weeks in the hospital, he was allowed to recuperate at home. Orihime wheeled him out of the hospital. Ichigo, sitting on a wheelchair, looked up to the clear, blue sky.

It was a beautiful day, making him think that the day was solely made for him.

But he later realized: it was the year of funerals.

:

**-iii. **It was the first Sunday of a new month, a month after the accident that killed thirty two people and spared one second year high school student.

Yuzu and Karin waited for Ichigo; he had promised to accompany the twins to a grocery store. They decided to ride a taxi.

''_This is expensive,' Karin said. _

'_Trains make carrying shopping bags difficult,' Yuzu replied._

_Karin shrugged and got inside the car._

Thirty seven minutes later, the taxi stopped in a intersection. The light flashed green and the driver instinctively slammed his foot down on the accelerator. A large delivery truck which was trying to get across the street for the last minute slammed into the side of the taxi at full speed.

The driver did not feel anything.

:

**i. **He woke up with a jolt.

It was the same dream.

With a tired sigh, he sat up. The clock radio on the bedside table showed the time; it was only two o'clock. He gave another sigh, put his elbows on his thighs and grasped his hair in his hands.

He stayed in that position for a full minute before standing up and cutting across the room. He opened the door. The hallway was quiet and dark. Leaving the bedroom door opened, he stepped outside and wandered into the hallway. Gazing at the darkness before him, he walked quietly. He stopped and absently turned to his right. He lifted a hand and grasped a knob. He tested it and found it was unlocked. The hinges did not make a sound as he swung it open. A different darkness presented itself before him. Unlike the unlit hallway, the darkness inside the room was not caused by a mere absence of light. The room reeked of deep-seated loneliness that he could almost touch and grasp it in his hand. He stepped closer until he was standing in the doorway. It felt as though a hundred hands had emerged from the dark room, elongated and wrapped around him like veins. They were pulling him in, dragging him inside the darkness. Buzzing voices talked behind his ears, voices he could not recognize.

:

**ii. **Like paper, metal crumpled as the car rolled over twice before striking another vehicle, and together, the two vehicles hit a traffic light post.

Metal bent, bent, bent and creaked, creaked, creaked.

And then, silence, fine like silk thread, hung in the air.

Headlamps and taillights blinked rhythmically from the heap of twisted and tangled metals.

Ichigo, who sat in the passenger seat, tried to kick his door, and after several attempts, it moved. He pushed himself off the seat and fell on the ground facedown. He hissed a curse and shuddered; his ankle and knee had twisted upon his fall. With a groan, he rotated his head to the side, eyes and cheeks damp with blood. A strange, strong odor came from the vehicles.

Ichigo struggled to get up, crumbling every time he tried. A small bundle of fire at the back of the taxi had started which slowly grew in size. The odor became stronger, and right then, he recognized what it was: gasoline.

Panic seized him in a chokehold. He made another attempt to lift himself up and this time, he succeeded. He saw Yuzu's pallid face through the cracked window of the backdoor of the car; her face was streaked with blood. She reached out to him with a shaking hand and touched the cracked window. Her hand left a bloody handprint on the glass. Beside her, Karin was motionless, eyes half-lidded, her face caked with blood. She was sitting directly behind the driver.

Ichigo grunted, his injured ankle burning with pain. He told them not to worry, that he will get them out of here alive. The fire thickened and spread, zigzagging, following the trail of spilled gasoline. Ignoring the heat and clenching a bleeding fist, he shouted their names and pounded on the window while his other hand struggled with the door.

The half of the taxi was soon engulfed in fire. His heart raced faster. The flames rose higher, dancing ominously around the vehicles. But Ichigo kept pounding, tugging at the door and banging on the window.

_YUZU! KARIN!_

Hands clamped hard on his shoulders; at the same time, the window he was banging cracked and broke. Someone started to drag him back and away from the taxi. Struggling, he fought those hands, screaming his sisters' names.

Everything was happening fast, but to Ichigo, everything seemed to be in cruel slow motion.

He continued to thrash about and scream, but the hands did not yield. With a vicious swear, Ichigo yanked his arm away. And as if on cue, the vehicles gave an ear-splitting explosion and soon, both cars were engulfed in fire. Nearby, people screamed and scrammed. Fire covered the entire crash area and the roadway, forcing the other cars into braking and skidding, darting into other lanes and blocking incoming vehicles.

Ichigo felt something was severed violently away from him. Bright lights, dancing lights, fading lights – he was watching the scene through a prism; lights reflecting, splitting into components. Then, they reconstructed with care, the pieces completed each other until an image was formed with jagged edges. It was ugly, this image.

But all he could do was stare at the fiery remains of the vehicles and scream with such desperation that people, who heard his cry, thought his mind had cracked.

:

**iii. **A hand was shaking him awake.

Ichigo opened his eyes. A shaft of sunlight filtered through a crack between the curtains, blinding him a little. He heard his name being called and turned towards the sound of that sweet voice. His brow wrinkled.

"Orihime?"

The girl watched him unfold his legs and sit up. He raked a hand over his messy bright hair. "What are you doing in my…" He frowned. "This is not my room," he concluded, seeing the flowery thin curtains covering the window, the cream-colored walls and shelves of stuffed animals. Across him, a neat bed was situated against the opposite wall, a familiar stuffed lion sitting on top of it.

Ichigo swallowed again.

Orihime sat down beside him on the bed where he had fallen asleep. "This is Yuzu-chan and Karin-chan's room."

Ichigo's fingers flexed over his knee. He looked around the bedroom; it was neat and clean, no layer of dust or cobwebs in sight. He recognized the bed where he sat as Karin's; the beddings were her favorite black and white cover that resembled a soccer ball.

It looked as if nothing had changed despite his younger sisters' absences. The room looked the same; Bostov was still on Yuzu's bed, and Karin's bed was still covered in her favorite beddings. The familiarity tugged at his heart.

Without a word, Ichigo stood up; Orihime looked up to him, quietly offering her support. But Ichigo was wrapped up in his grief and guilt that he did not notice. He started to leave but Orihime grabbed his wrist. Despite himself and the painful nostalgia, he felt his body react to her touch. Hot, electric, forbidden.

Against his will, he looked down at her. He was standing directly in front of her, giving her an obstructed view of his eyes, dark and blazing with complex, turbulent emotions. Her grip on his wrist tightened, not looking away from his heated gaze.

Silence filled the room, a silence so thin and fragile that with one movement, it will shatter. At the same time, it was thick with tension; it was like a rubber band being stretched to its limit or a volcano on a verge of erupting. One wrong move and the balance that kept everything between them sane and safe will shatter, plunging them both to a place where both heaven and hell will condemn them.

Ichigo felt his heart racing, pounding so hard as though trying to escape from his ribs. His body stirred, fierce heat coiling in the pit of his stomach as he watched her stare up at him. From his vantage point, he had the perfect top view of her full breasts. The two buttons at the top of her throat were still unbuttoned and her collar was opened, providing him a small glimpse of her cleavage. Swallowing thickly, he told himself to look away but his body refused to obey. Instead, he gazed at that patch of smooth skin. His eyes flickered back to her face; her lips were slightly parted as she breathed hurriedly, cheeks flushed, and her eyes were matching the heated look in his eyes.

Something thick, hot and electric was boiling between them, threatening to consume them.

"Breakfast is ready."

A new voice pierced through the thick, heated haze. Orihime visibly jumped in surprise while Ichigo simply looked at the doorway with a frown. Their mother was standing there, watching them with a blank expression on her beautiful face.

Orihime slowly retracted her hand.

Without another word, their mother departed. Breathing heavily, Ichigo stepped away and turned his body away to conceal his heated reaction. Ichigo was disgusted: he both hated and enjoyed her effect on him and the fierce and hot pulse of his desire. It throbbed, it ached. So much that he was shaking all over. Of all the women who could make him feel like this, why did it have to be his sister?

_I'm a fucking monster. _He'll burn in a special hell for this.

Shaking his head to get rid of his morose thoughts, Ichigo glanced over at Orihime; her hands were on her chest, her face was flushed and her breathing was shallow. She must have felt his gaze because she looked up and their gazes connected – for a second there, something hot and electric passed between them. Startled, Ichigo stared at her, wide-eyed but Orihime looked away, flushed.

Tugging at his collar, he asked her quietly, "Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine!" she chirped quickly – too quickly – without looking at him and rushed out of the room. Frowning deeply, Ichigo shook his head and followed her.

:

**iv. **Keigo's melodramatic monologue was the only noise in the rooftop. He was whining about the same mundane things, but it was a familiar noise thus Ichigo tolerated it. He seldom tolerated noises, but Keigo was _Keigo. _He needed to make a noise to survive.

Mizuiro was busy with his tool of female conquests – his cell phone. Ichigo sipped his juice with a perpetual scowl on his face. Beside the scowling redhead was Sado. Across the gentle giant was Ishida, eating his meal. They did not notice the rooftop door swinging open; another male student had come in.

Keigo stopped in his speech, eyes widening at the scene before him. Ichigo, who despite his apparent disregard to Keigo's speeches, noticed the abrupt halt in Keigo's whining. Scowling, he looked up to the figure in front of him. His mood further darkened.

"What the fuck do you want?" he deadpanned.

"I heard you have a hot sister," Renji said with a grin. Ichigo scowled. Renji sat down next to the redhead, placing an arm around Ichigo's shoulders. "How hot is she?"

Ichigo roughly shoved Renji's arm off his shoulders. "Don't talk about her as if she's some piece of meat," he snapped, crushing his juice box. Renji shrugged and folded his arms behind his head.

"Everyone's talking about it. Ichigo's hot sister this, that. Those sort of thing."

"Everyone? You mean _every_ fucking pervert?" Ichigo snapped sharply.

"Hey! It's not surprising that your sister became a hot topic," Renji drawled, rolling his eyes. "So, you were hiding her from us."

Ichigo threw the redhead a withering glance. "I don't see a reason to parade that irrelevant information."

"You mean you don't want us to see your hot sister."

"Stop talking about her like _that,_" he growled, his eyes holding a spark of anger in them. Renji snorted but he knew when Ichigo was serious and was not.

"So, are you two the same age?"

"She's one year younger," he replied gruffly. "But we started school at the same time."

"Why didn't she attend the same high school with you?"

"She studied here for a year. She transferred when she was in the middle of second year."

"Why did she transfer?"

It was an innocent question but Renji noticed how the mood drastically changed.

"It's none of your fucking business," Ichigo growled with a hint of warning. Renji raised an eyebrow at Ichigo's strange reaction. Renji glanced cautiously around him; Mizuiro was busy with his cellphone but there was an obvious tension between his eyebrows. Keigo's cheerful babbling became forced and Sado – his expression was difficult to read due to his long, wavy hair that covered half of his face. Ishida stayed quiet and withdrawn.

_Tch._

Kurosaki Ichigo was an enigma. He was a strange student, strange because he was considered as a delinquent but he made good grades and was in their year's top 20. Renji was also aware that Ichigo was obsessively privy about his personal life. Sado was probably the only person who knew his life history with vivid accuracy. To some extent, Ishida, Keigo and Mizuiro were also well-informed.

What Renji knew about Ichigo were the following: he lived alone in an apartment, his father was deceased, and his sister lived with their mother. He was honorable, loyal to his friends, a good fighter, and only fought to defend himself and his friends. In a nutshell, Renji considered Ichigo decent, but very stubborn.

Ichigo stood up, a hand scratching the back of his hair. "Later, guys." He waved over his shoulder without looking at them. Keigo whined overdramatically at Ichigo's retreating back. The door swung shut behind the sullen boy. Pouting, Keigo turned to Sado.

"He's so grumpy today!"

Sado grunted quietly.

"Do you know why?" asked Keigo innocently. Sado shook his head. "I don't believe you! You know everything!" Keigo whined.

"Maybe," Sado replied simply.

:

**v.** Sado was not a good storyteller, but he listened very well. He knew what words to say and what not to say, and when to say them and when not to say them.

Every time he thought of Ichigo's story, it felt like it had happened to someone else. It was a strange tale; it was strange as spectral music and as sad as winter rain. Sado was not exactly the type of person who agonized over sad stories. He preferred music and cute things, those ordinary sorts of things. But every time he watched Ichigo gaze at the sky, searching for something far beyond, Sado would feel a vague sort of sadness. He could not grasp it, but it was there, wrapped around him like a passing breeze.

That's the kind of sadness Sado would feel.


End file.
